


A Charmed Life

by DizzyDrea



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Barebacking, F/M, Romance, Sexy Times, girl!Harvey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike's never been a fool, and he doesn't plan on starting now. He knows an invitation when he sees one, and doesn't waste time overthinking it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Charmed Life

**Author's Note:**

> So. I've seen stories where Mike's a girl (which makes sense, because he's always caring all over the place), but I don't think I've ever seen a story where Harvey is the girl. Which got Muse to thinking, what would Harvey be like as a girl? Apparently, it's this. Also, this is over two thousand words of porn without a single shred of dialog. I had no idea that was possible. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Suits is the property of Aaron Korsh, Doug Liman, David Bartis, Universal Cable Productions, Hypnotic Films & Television, USA Networks, and a lot of other people who aren't me. I do this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

~o~

Mike Ross has never lived a charmed life.

With his parents dying when he was barely eleven, followed by far too many years spent wallowing in a drug-addled haze, he knows it could have been worse, but still, it hasn't exactly been a cake walk either.

That’s why he’s absurdly grateful to Hayley Specter for lifting him up out of the mess that he’d made of his life and offering him the chance to grab his dreams.

He just wonders if his second chance couldn’t have come in a less attractive package.

With legs that go all the way to the floor, and her kitten heels _(I don’t have to be taller than every man in the room; I just have to be able to look them in the eye while I’m screwing them with their pants on)_ , she’s sex personified. He spends far too many hours in court, watching her eviscerate opposing counsel while he sits there half-hard, hoping no one notices. 

Hayley always does, and gives him this sideways smirk that does funny things to his insides.

And it isn’t even her looks—well, not _only_ her looks, anyway. He knew he was in trouble the second she opened her mouth in the interview. Her voice can be hard as diamonds one minute, dulcet and smooth as silk the next. And damned if those extremes—and everything in between, if he’s honest—don’t make his spine tingle. 

So when she offered him the job, he’d thought she was crazy _(Harvard lackeys I’ve got; what I need is a secret weapon)_. Honestly, he hadn’t thought she had the balls to do it _(Technically, I don’t. But that’s why it’ll work: they’ll never expect it of me)_ , but he’s grateful that she did.

Right about now, he’s rethinking that.

They’ve just spent the evening wining and dining a prospective client—more wining than dining, truth be told—and somehow, they’ve wound up back at Hayley’s penthouse. It wasn’t anything he planned, but when she nudged him out of the car, he followed dutifully. She hadn’t been drunk, so he didn’t have the excuse of seeing her upstairs just in case she got lost _(Lesson number one of client dinners: never get so drunk you can’t remember where you live)_.

But now he’s got a problem. A great big Hayley-sized problem.

The second the elevator opened in her condo, she started stripping. The first to go were the heels; not unusual. He’s been to her condo a number of times and if there’s one constant, it’s that she kicks her heels off the second she crosses the threshold. If it had stopped there, he might not have minded.

But no, she kept right on going, padding over to the stereo, her hips swaying back and forth enticingly, and reached for the zipper of her dress—something black and shimmery _(Valentino and Dolce are a girl's best friends; remember that)_ —and let it slither to the floor. He cringes; he can’t help himself. He’s met her tailor, and Rene would absolutely _kill_ her if he knew she’d let that dress hit the floor in a messy heap. Not that Mike’s going to tell; he’s met the man, and he’s never been more frightened in his life.

So now there’s a puddle of expensive black fabric around her ankles, and Miles Davis floating through the air, and he’s wondering if he pissed someone off in a past life, because this is too much for a saint to handle, much less a sinner like him.

She’s swaying to the music, her body graceful and sure, and he can feel his pants tightening as his cock takes notice. And it’s not like she’s naked, either. She’s wearing a black slip that barely skims her thighs, and he can see the scraps of black lace beneath that he presumes are her underwear. Her dark hair is cascading down her back, rippling and shiny in the low light, a tantalizing river that he's just itching to run his fingers through.

If he were a better man, Mike wouldn’t want her the way he does. She’s his boss; he’d like to think she’s a friend. She is not, however, supposed to be his favorite wet dream.

Except that now, she’s turned around, and she’s looking at him with a look he’s never seen before. And damned if it isn’t the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. Then the look slides from sexy to knowing, and he moans quietly. Whatever his thoughts about her—chaste or not—he’s always tried to wear a neutral mask like she’s taught him to _(Careful, Puppy; you don’t want them seeing your plan before you hit them over the head with it)_. But right now, in this moment, he’s helpless to stop himself from displaying the naked want he feels.

And Hayley, never being one to waste an opportunity _(No, opportunity doesn’t knock; you have to go out and chase it down like prey, otherwise you’ll never get where you want to go)_ , stalks across the room towards him. And that’s the only word he has for it: stalking. She’s moving with purpose, intent clear in her amber eyes. 

He’d like to stand his ground, just wait for her and meet her challenge, but he knows he’s not that guy. So, he backs up. One step, then another, and another.

He realizes his mistake too late. He’s backed up right into the couch, and collapses onto it with an undignified _oof_.

Hayley is both unimpressed and undeterred.

She doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause and oddly, doesn’t say a damned word. She simply settles on his lap and lowers her lips to his.

That first contact is electric, sizzling over every nerve ending he possesses. Instead of going stiff as a statue like he probably should, he reaches for her, running his hands over her hips and up her back, the slide of the silky fabric beneath his fingertips a soft counterpoint to the harsh buzz of attraction skittering through him.

And then he feels her tongue stroke slowly over his bottom lip. He gasps, his lips falling open in an accidental invitation that a woman like Hayley hardly needs. Their tongues seek each other out, winding around each other, the slide wondrously sensual and decadent. He can’t stifle the moan that bubbles up from his chest. Her answering chuckle both startles and warms him.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that she’s so damned good at kissing _(I never do anything unless I’m the best at it)_. She’s been teaching him how to be the best lawyer in New York City—well, second best, after herself—since she dragged him along on this crazy carpet ride. But it does make him wonder if he’s in a little over his head _(The time to think about regrets is before you take the leap, Rookie, not after)_ with her, with this whole situation.

Maybe he’ll examine how it all came to this in the morning. Right now, he’s a bit busy.

He can feel her fingernails scratch over his scalp as she runs her fingers through his hair, and it draws a shiver out of him. He’s painfully hard now, and she’s grinding down into him, which is only making things worse. Too much more of that and he'll come in his—admittedly cheap—pants like a teenager.

But it's like she's hardwired directly to his brain, because she pulls back, just a little, just enough to work the button and zipper of his pants open, and it's like he's fifteen again, fumbling in the near-dark with a girl for the first time. He wishes he could be more smooth; he has a feeling that the men she brings home on a regular basis can go from zero to _hot damn_ without missing a beat.

Hayley merely chuckles again, laying a hand on his cheek and tipping his head up so their eyes can meet. Oddly, just looking into her eyes calms him. It's the certainty, the want in her eyes that settles him. He takes a deep breath and nods at her. He can do this; he _wants_ to do this.

She trails her hand down his chest, over his skinny tie _(The clothes make the man, Mike; your clothes make you look like an accountant)_ and down to his lap. Her fingers ghost over his cock, and even through the boxers he's still wearing, the sensation sends bolts of pleasure through him. If it feels this good with a thin layer of material between them, he's not sure he'll survive actual skin on skin.

And then her hand delves into his boxers, her fingers gently closing around his erection. He bites his lip even as his hips thrust up into the circle of her fingers. He can't stop the moan that escapes his lips. Her hand is warm, and though her touch is gentle as she strokes him, he knows that any more of that and this'll be a short night.

He circles her wrist with his hand, looking up into her eyes and begging—wordlessly, because he doesn't have enough brain cells left to form a coherent sentence at this point—for her to get on with it. Her smirk tells him his message has been received. Which doesn't mean she won't try to mess with him _(Once you have them where you want them, take a second to enjoy it; it'll be worth it)_ , but he's on edge now; even the slightest pressure and he'll tumble over the edge, and he _knows_ without being told that she'd be pissed if that happened.

His only move—his only thought—is to give as good as he's getting. His hand moves from her wrist, trailing over the bare skin of her thigh until he's dipping down between her legs. He nudges the black lace of her underwear aside and strokes his fingers over her clit. She arches back, mouth hanging open as she moans soundlessly. She's beautiful like this, falling apart in his hands, and he wishes they could stay like this but if he doesn't get inside of her soon, he's going to spontaneously combust.

He pushes the material aside as she rises up on her knees, and then she's sinking down on him, taking his cock into her body in one long, smooth slide, his hips rising to meet hers. She leans forward, resting her forehead against his as they both try to breathe through the exquisite sensations racing through them.

Finally, _finally_ , she starts moving. Slowly, almost tentatively at first, then fast and steady, her hands braced on his shoulders for leverage. He sneaks a hand under her slip, splaying his fingers along her spine, feeling the power she's releasing with every move. His other hand drifts up to cup her breast, squeezing the nipple through two layers of fabric. He's gratified with a low moan, and his hips react of their own accord, hitching up to press even deeper inside her.

It's so sensual, so sexy that he can hardly believe it's happening. They're still mostly clothed, which only adds to the forbidden feel of the moment. If it weren’t for the fact that he can feel her, smell her, taste her, he'd think he was dreaming.

His eyes rise; he can't help himself, he has to know how she looks when she's like this. She's beautiful, face flushed, the sheen of a light sweat glowing on her skin. It cuts him to the core, how unrestrained she is. And he's the one getting to see this, not some random guy from a bar that she's brought home for the night. It may not mean much to her, but it's _everything_ to him _(Stop caring all over the place, Mike; it's unprofessional)_.

And then she's tumbling over the edge, dragging him with her. His vision greys around the edges, and he's breathing harshly, but he's never felt better in his life. She collapses into him, breath coming in short pants. He enfolds her in his arms, tangling the fingers of one hand into her hair as he waits for his heart to stop trying to beat out of his chest.

He doesn't know how long they stay there—it could be minutes or hours, he's not too sure—but she finally pulls back, kissing him slow and languid, just a hint of unspent passion as their lips press together. Then she pushes up, standing gracefully as if she hadn't just been writhing in pleasure in his lap. 

She tugs her slip off and drops it on his head, his outraged protest token at best. He watches her move around the couch, that sway in her hips more pronounced—and, he thinks, a lot more deliberate now. She pauses just at the end of the hall, turning to look over her shoulder at him. The _come hither_ smolder in her eyes is unmistakable, but just in case he missed the memo, she unhooks her bra and tosses it at him with a wink.

Mike's never been a fool _(Trevor is an asshole you're well rid of, and don't look at me like that; you know I'm right)_ , and he doesn't plan on starting now. He knows an invitation when he sees one, and doesn't waste time overthinking it. He clambers up and vaults over the couch, tugging at his clothes as he races down the hall.

He's never lived a charmed life, it's true, but he's always known his luck had to change.

~Finis

**Author's Note:**

> Public service announcement, kids:
> 
> DO NOT, under any circumstances, engage in unprotected sex. It's not safe; it's not smart. Just. Don't. Do It.
> 
> Mike and Hayley know and trust each other, and as Hayley never does anything without thinking it through, you can bet she knows that both she and Mike are clean, but that is neither an excuse for or an endorsement of unprotected sex. Please, be smart and use a condom.


End file.
